


Egress

by anitaupstairs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Headcanon, Heaven, M/M, Mary and Cas, One Shot, Only a vague mention of Dean, Pearly Gates, Pre-Supernatural, meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2013-11-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:58:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anitaupstairs/pseuds/anitaupstairs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wants something from him. Humans always want something from God or his children. It's just, she doesn't actually say it, never asks anything of him, just keeps looking back and crying soundlessly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Egress

There is no "break room" for angels. So Castiel lurks by The Gaits of Heaven sometimes. He goes there to decompress. It’s peaceful, seeing the beings he is charged with watching over, ascending to the presence of their father. When he sees them, alive on their earth, they are always active. Fighting, stealing. screaming, saving, fucking, making messes, crying out, begging for forgiveness. In Heaven they are silent, filled with a sort of holy wonder. He never actually stops one of them, and avoids speaking to them, why would he. It’s not his job to watch The Gates, not his job to get the souls acclimated. For the most part they’re older, those who have lived through their time. Sometimes he sees children, teenagers, that sort of thing.  
It makes him _sad ___, in a very vague sort of way. Castiel does not get sad. Not in the sense humans do. He is a soldier of the Lord and he has seen his comrades die. He knows what loss is like, he feels the loss of every one of his brothers and sisters, but it is muted, light seen through a bed-sheet like a child reading undercovers. He feels remorse for a life cut short, coupled with the faith that if it wasn’t God’s plan, then at least it contributed to it.  
The angels normally don’t trouble themselves with new souls, don’t interface with souls at all. They think Castiel's fascination with them is funny, snicker as they see him gazing over the steady stream of souls into Heaven. To an Angel, a human life is infinitesimally short. Sometimes they take an interest, like the little french girl Joan, but for the most part they observe the whole, not the parts. Castiel has never made a point of talking, unsolicited, to a soul. Today, today is different.  


Castiel turns, watching the newest group walk up to the Pearly Gaits. An old woman, her face lined with innumerable wrinkles, bent with age, stumbles. Before she can fall, a young woman leaps forward, grabbing her elbow and righting her.  
The old woman pats the young ones hand and they go their separate ways. Castiel watches as the young woman, who is, upon closer inspection, not so young mind you. She draws even with where he’s standing.  


"You can stop that now?”  
“Pardon” She turns, her blond eyebrows knit together.  
“You are in Heaven. Goodness is an assumption here. You needn't have helped that woman.”  


She stares at him all blond ringlets and confusion.  


“This is Heaven?” her eyes are bright  
“Yes, I am Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord” She's sniffing now, her eyes glassy. This, for some inconceivable reason, moves Castiel.  
“How, how did you come to be here” He’s learned from bitter experience not to ask these sorts of questions, but he genuinely wants to know.  
“There was an, an accident. Something I thought wouldn’t happen, did. I made a mistake once, now it's come back to haunt me.” She's crying freely now, the tears glistening on her cheeks. Castiel does not quite understand, but he tries his best.  
“You can rest now, you are in the arms of our Lord.”  


She shakes her head.  


“No, you don’t understand, I can’t rest.” She turns, looking back through the gates.  
“Castiel, I need to go back.”  
“No” he grounds out. This is why he shouldn’t talk to the souls.  
“Why do you need to go?”  


she’s still looking back out of he gaits.  


“My baby." She smiles a little, "I suppose he's not my baby anymore, he’s four now. I can’t leave him, he needs me.” she turns her tear streaked face to Castiel.  
“I promised him, I promised my son that Angels were watching over him.”  


Castiel swallows. She has not asked anything of him, true, but he can feel her eyes burring, staring into him. Castiel should leave. This is not his problem, not his fight. There are hundreds of motherless children, hundreds of souls that need comfort, guidance, _love ___. He should offer his condolences and go back to his post. After all, he is and angel of the Lord, he has responsibilities, this is not what he is supposed to be doing. This is not what he does. Yet, something, some emotion is lodged in his chest. It’s not sorrow or grief, those he knows those even if only remotely. It’s the very first stirrings of something far more dangerous. **Doubt ******. He doesn’t recognize it now, wont for years to come, but it’s there, pressing just inside his sternum. Why should this little boy have to lose his mother. What was the purpose. Did she tuck him in at night, or cut the crusts of his sandwiches? Who would do that now.  
Castiel heaves a sigh, and turns to go. She rounds her shoulders, staring at the gates of Heaven with the sort of desolation and misery people usually exhibit at being on the other side. This is a mistake. It does not go against orders per say, but it is certainly not included in them. 

“What is the boy’s name?”  
She blinks at him, her eyelashes clotted together with tears.  
“Dean. My son’s name is Dean.”


End file.
